Book II. Chapter 136. El’a’ar

The first thing Ard noticed was how suddenly the atmosphere in camp had changed. Ten minutes earlier, the hunters had been laughing and carrying on, filling the camp with the usual bustle of a “settlement” like this.

Now silence closed in around the hunters, broken only by clipped whispers and the occasional sharp word for a friend who wouldn’t leave well enough alone. The same man you’d been joking with only moments before over a game of Sevens was now needling you with questions when your nerves were already wound too tight. More and more often, though, the clicking of rifle bolts and the clanging of revolver cylinders drowned out everything else. Sturdy bootlaces scraped as they were pulled tight; cartridges slid with faint metallic clicks into the loops of bandoliers and spare “moons.”

Even the hunters who had only just returned from a nighttime foray into the Park poured out into the street. They hadn’t gotten as much sleep as they were supposed to, but now they were carrying out Zalessky’s order. And it wasn’t hard to guess what that order called for.

They checked their gear, counted their rounds, and readied themselves for something that killed any urge to go back to joking around just to pass the time. Worse, judging by their faces, most of them were berating themselves for having dared complain about the routine of the past few days.

The incident with Bors’s team had been something of a reality check for the other members of the expedition, who were beginning to grow cocky. But it hadn’t been enough to make them worry. From what Ardi had gathered, hunters treated life itself, and their service in particular, with remarkable nonchalance. They had grown so used to constantly living on the edge that they no longer seemed to take death, or any other disaster, all that seriously.

And that was why Ardan found it so strange to realize how many of them were looking to him with hope. Was this what battle mages felt when they appeared on the front line? Was this how ordinary people saw a battle mage? As some kind of miracle worker about to open a grimoire, strike a staff against the ground, and bring about the one outcome they all wanted: a safe return to their loved ones.

Before Ardan even stepped inside Zalessky’s battered tent, patched over and over, he caught a smell that could mean only one thing.

Faintly sweet and cloying, with the heavy metallic tang of caked blood, it drifted low over the ground, coating the tongue in a sticky film. The choking stench sank deep into clothing until no amount of washing could get it out.

The rot of overripe fruit left in the grass after autumn’s first frost mingled with the acrid tang of blood beginning to cake and the stifling dampness of a cellar no one had entered in ages. Above it all lay that singular, incomparable smell: flesh gone cold. It tightened your throat until a raw lump rose there, something you could neither cough up nor spit out.

That was what human death smelled like. Ardi realized only now that the path through the forest had smelled exactly the same. A non-Speaker wouldn’t even have noticed the path. Ardan, though, had assumed that some hunters had simply violated the Laws of the Hunt, if there were any such laws up here in the north, and chosen a pregnant female or a litter of young as their prey. Yes, they had sated the Hunger, but they had endangered future hunts for cycles to come. If you kill prey before it has grown and produced offspring, soon there will be no prey left at all.

That was what his friends in the forest had taught him.

Ardan made a mental note of it and drew back the tent flap. Inside, all the expedition’s “leaders” and “important people” had already gathered. But instead of clustering around the wide table heaped with maps or the graphite board listing the schedule of forays and each group’s duties, they stood beside a bed.

Ardan took his place behind Bors and another hunter who also led one of the squads but whose name he didn’t know.

“...forty, maybe fifty,” the wounded man rasped. “Maybe... more. Drab... there...” He started coughing, spitting blood onto the bandages. “This... I’d only ever heard stories about things like this. Everything in flames. So much blood. Everyone was screaming. And they...”

His left eye slid shut, and a single yellowish tear slipped down his cheek. His right eye was not closed; it could not close. There were no eyelids at all over the empty, scorched socket, and half his face was gone. Bare bone showed beneath bandages soaked in blood and ointment.

He lay on the blankets, writhing in pain. Bandaged stumps of different lengths jutted from his shoulders in place of arms. The broken end of a bone had sliced through the wrapping on one of them. Judging by the telltale hollow in his belly, his abdominal cavity had already been packed with hemostatic sponges. His ribs had been cinched tight with rigid compression wraps, then bandaged as well.

Shreds of skin and flesh, clots of blood, and a section of intestine lay right there on the planked floor, staining the threadbare rugs spread over the wood. The tents had no ground cloths; instead, planks had been nailed together for flooring. The planks were usually dry and creaked a little. Now blood made them squelch beneath boots.

The Eternal Angels were already calling the spark of the Face of Light back into the Light, but it was being held back. Quite literally. A yellowish seal glowed beneath Captain Rogov’s feet. Again and again, golden ribbons flew from the head of his staff and sank into the bandages. And each time another measure of Ley vanished beneath the scarlet bandages, the wounded man drew another breath in helpless agony.

Ardan knew, in theory, that such a seal existed. It could sustain the body through magic, allowing an injured person to eke out a little more time before receiving medical care. But the name of it was buried somewhere in the back of his memory. Seals like this were taught only to military students, and Ardi had lit his Blue Star too recently to know the whole catalog of Blue military magic.

Especially since the real study of military magic began with that very Star: the Blue Star.

“We... were studying... a herd of Mushroom Elk in... the ninth sector...” he said hoarsely, swallowing foamy pink saliva. “They... ambushed us...”

“Were they waiting for you?” Zalessky asked curtly. He gripped his right hand in his left until his fingernails bit into his own skin and drew blood.

“N-no...” he forced out. “But... we were spotted...”

“Uniform.” Zalessky was plainly trying to pack as much as possible into the fewest words. “Were they in uniform?”

“Yeah... Drab...” Another tear rolled down his cheek, this one no longer yellow at all but whitish and puslike. “Killed... they killed us... fucking... Ngians... That dingy uniform of theirs... I remember it... from the textbooks...”

The Hunters and mages began whispering tensely among themselves. Even Melin, standing beside Magister Tikhonov, joined in.

“Did you see any mages? Or only soldiers?”

He tried to answer; the sound came out closer to a roar than a rasp, and Rogov swayed slightly, but he held the spell. The golden ribbons flew faster and faster from the finial of his staff, and the color drained from his face.

“I don’t know... Drab... I don’t know...” Tears ran down his cheek now, no longer one at a time but in a steady flow that smelled of rot, pus, and despair. “So I’m... dead... right, Drab? Already... a dead man...”

Magister Tikhonov turned away, while Mr. Nalensky bolted out of the tent. From the sounds outside, he was throwing up.

“Yes, Anatoliy.” Zalessky’s own blood dripped down his fingers. “You’re already dead.”

“Fuck... fuck!” Anatoliy shouted. “I never asked her out... you know? On a date. I got scared. Thought... I’d get back from the expedition... ask her. Wanted... to save up... some money. And Mom and Dad... my parents... they need help... getting the kitchen fixed up.”

“We’ll help, Ant,” Zalessky said, and left it at that. He didn’t say “I promise,” much less “I swear,” but Ardi could feel that if Mr. Zalessky stayed alive, he would keep his word.

“It’s awful, isn’t it, Drab?” Fat tears rolled down his reddened face, leaving pale streaks before they fell to the floor. “Dying . . . it’s so awful . . . I don’t want to . . . I don’t want to, Drab . . . I don’t want to!”

Ant wept and moaned. Tikhonov was the second to break. He clapped a hand over his mouth, squeezed his terrified, tear-filled eyes shut for a moment, then bolted into the street after Nalensky. Not long after, Melin joined him.

Melin wasn’t trembling, and he didn’t look as if he was about to throw up. Instead, he clenched his teeth so hard that the muscles in his jaw bulged and Ardi could clearly hear his teeth grinding together.

“I don’t want to die . . . please, Drab . . . please. Help me.”

Zalessky sank down beside the bed, which was awash in blood and pus, and rested his palm on Ant’s head. Ant moaned louder still.

“Do not fear the Dark that will rise like a wall in your path. Do not falter before those who creep through the darkness, for the Face of Light walks beside you on your right.” Zalessky recited the prayer Galessian warriors had carried with them for centuries when they marched out to face the blades, arrows, and magic of Ectassus, knowing death was all but certain.

“No . . . I don’t want to . . . Mama!”

Zalessky stroked Ant’s head and went on whispering the ancient words:

“His Light is your armor, armor that never cracks. His name is your steel, steel that never misses its mark. Walk the lands of the fallen, and do not let their groans frighten you, for your gaze rests on the point of His blade and His right hand guides you.”

“Mama! Please! Where are you, Mama?!”

“Let night close in, let the enemy’s horns sound, let the earth smoke with ash: you will not retreat. His footsteps are with us. The breath of the Face of Light is with us, and wherever He passes, the Dark will fall before Him, and only then will we set out. Back home. Into the Light.”

“Mama! I’m scared, Mommy! Momm—”

Ant never finished. Zalessky whipped out a knife, spun it in his palm, and drove it hard into the center of Ant’s forehead, burying the blade all the way to the guard. Ant didn’t even flinch. He simply . . . switched off. There he was, and a mere instant later he was gone. Only his bloodied stumps swung once, helplessly, then went limp, as though he were reaching forward with arms he no longer had. Not toward the roof of the tent, but deep into his own memory. Toward her, the one he had called for so desperately . . .

“I will not ask what end you found

along your road through hostile ground…”

“Hold until dawn,” Zalessky continued, pulling the knife free and dragging the flat of the blade across his own palm. “Hold to the last breath. And we will greet the dawn with blades bared and hearts aflame. In the name of our Father and to the glory of our homeland. We die here today, but they die with us. El’a’ar.”

“El’a’ar,” everyone in the tent said in unison.

In the language of the people of the Al’Zaphir Desert, where the religion of the Face of Light had originated, the saying meant something like “Let there be the Light.”

Ardan tightened his grip on the signal medallion and . . . never activated it. Something in the story he’d heard made him wary. Some part of it still felt too thin to justify blowing his cover and summoning reinforcements from the Black House. Besides, even if the medallion did work, which was far from certain, operatives of the Second Chancery would take at least ten days to arrive.

What were medallions like these even for, then, if they served little practical purpose anywhere but the city?

It was simple.

So that a Cloak’s death would not be in vain.

The seal beneath Rogov’s feet went dark. Rogov himself swayed to one side. The accumulator in his ring crumbled to dust. He leaned heavily on his staff as he shook the remaining dust from the ring, then replaced the crystal with a new one.

Zalessky, meanwhile, had already covered the lifeless body with a thin blanket. He gave a brief nod to two sturdy Hunters. They lifted the corpse, supporting it beneath the shoulders and knees, then carried it out into the street, their expressions grim. Ardi managed to steal a glance. Several Hunters were already digging a grave, while the rest retrieved their rifles and gathered by the pit.

Melin and Nalensky came back.

“Damn it” was all Captain Melin said.

He tapped his staff lightly against the floor. A dark seal flashed beneath his blood-spattered boots. In the next instant, the blood, scraps of flesh, and sheets of skin all burst into bright green flame. Smokeless and odorless, the fire cleansed the tent in only a few seconds, touching nothing but the dead man’s flesh.

“Thank you, Captain Melin,” Zalessky said, his tone cold. He gestured toward the table with an open hand. “We need to decide what to do next.”

Almost in unison, everyone moved over to the enormous map of the Park laid out on the table among the papers. It showed all of Northern National Park of Natural Anomalies: twelve sectors, both lakes, everything.

Zalessky picked up a pencil and drew a line from the Second Station to the ninth sector.

“A day and a half’s journey...” Bors breathed. “How did he ever make it back?”

“If you want to live, Bors, you’ll make it through worse than that,” Rita said through clenched teeth.

“But...”

Zalessky cast a single quick glance at them. It was enough; both fell silent at once.

“What’s in the ninth sector?”

“Listen to me,” Miss Ostrozhskaya began, but Nalensky immediately cut her off.

No permission was given for this copy from the official page where the author publishes, and reading there supports the creator.

“The ninth sector is home to several predatory Anomalies and a whole catalog of their prey species. Not to mention the birds and flora.”

“Danger range?” Zalessky asked.

Nalensky turned to Tikhonov, who replied instantly, each word crisp and precise:

“From 2/3/3 to 4/8/6, if we include the Anomaly that poses the greatest danger to humans.”

Thanks to Professor Kovertsky’s lectures, Ardi knew his way around the classification system used by the Hunters’ Guild.

The first number, from one to nine, was a very rough indication of how many Stars an Anomaly “counted as.”

In this case, two Stars.

The second number, from one to twenty, was an equally rough measure of “danger”: one meant a typical predator at the top of the food chain in its own habitat, while twenty meant something akin to a natural disaster.

The third number, from one to “infinity,” indicated the recommended number of mages or monster hunters required to neutralize the Anomaly in question.

For Anomalies living in Preserves under the auspices of the Hunters’ Guild and the Mages’ Guild, the classification included a fourth value as well: a registry number. But Anomalies in the wild had no registry numbers.

“Maybe you...” Senior Magister Ostrozhskaya tried to get a word in, but once again no one paid her any attention.

“Anything special?” Zalessky narrowed his eyes.

“Unlikely, Drabomir.” Nalensky spread his hands. “Perhaps a Dragon Bear. Its sac is highly prized on the market; that’s where it synthesizes liquid fire from its own saliva. For certain alchemical solutions, it’s the only... solution. Sorry. I’m nervous. A hundred grams of its saliva can fetch up to three hundred exes.”

Zalessky shook his head.

“Three hundred exes isn’t enough to make a group of Ngian regular soldiers venture this far south and risk another Fatian massacre, this time on their own border,” he said, doubt plain in his voice.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Chaz said with a nod. “The ninth sector lies between the lakes, after all, so it doesn’t make sense to think they’re trying to ambush someone there, either. It’s one of the most isolated parts of the Park. Even poachers are hardly ever there, and... Sorry. You clearly know more about poachers than we do.”

“Yes, so...”

“So listen to me!” Miss Ostrozhskaya barked. She slapped her palm down on the table. “Are we really going to take the ravings of a kid at face value? Brave, granted, but badly wounded, and not even twenty-three.”

Everyone turned to the Senior Magister. That was clearly exactly what she’d been aiming for.

“Why did we decide they were Ngians in the first place when their border is nearly a week’s ride away?” Varvara continued, her pointed chin thrust out.

“But how else can we expl—”

“Any number of ways, if you’d only look beyond your own stupidity.” Ostrozhskaya cut Rita off at once. “They could be poachers who’ve pulled on Ngian uniforms. The fact that poachers aren’t usually there doesn’t make their presence impossible. Not to mention that the incident could be a false-flag operation. Did you see how Congress ended? Setting the Empire and the Charter of the North at each other’s throats right now would be a dream come true for everyone, from the Confederates to Selkado. Though... why am I holding forth on politics to idiots like you?”

“Ngia isn’t part of the Charter of the North,” one of the Hunter squad leaders objected.

“Well, there you have it,” Ostrozhskaya snorted. “Exactly my point. For your information, you idiot, Ngia is essentially a colony of Tazidah. They can’t even control their own resources! And the only thing that justifies the very existence of a border between the two states is that no one would allow such an expansion by the Brotherhood! The Brotherhood itself understands that it can’t withstand a united attack by several states and... why am I wasting my breath? You’re about as educated as some coal miner!”

Ostrozhskaya waved a hand dismissively and turned to Zalessky.

“I understand, Drabomir, that you’re as narrow-minded as any man and want to answer aggression by escalating it. But I am begging you: muster one shred of common sense, and don’t give in to the urge to hold a dick-measuring contest with imaginary Ngians!”

For all her odd manner and abrasive delivery, Senior Magister Varvara Ostrozhskaya had made several valid points.

All they truly had to go on were the words of a mortally wounded, exhausted Hunter.

The border with Ngia really was a full week’s ride away. If they stopped to rest during the day as well as camp at night, it would take even longer.

And the fact that someone had put on the uniform of the Empire’s northern neighbor proved only that someone had gotten hold of one.

All these inconsistencies were obvious, and they were precisely why Ardi had refrained from activating the medallion. Too many things didn’t add up.

“And what do you propose, Miss Ostrozhskaya?”

“Senior Magister!” Varvara shrieked, but Zalessky didn’t even raise an eyebrow, so she quickly gave in. “We’ll isolate the ninth sector. The Winged-Horned can’t live there because of the humidity and other environmental conditions. So whatever killed those men, and I do feel sorry for them, has nothing to do with our expedition.”

“But what if they really are Ngians and poachers?” Bors asked the obvious question.

“Then we’ll send a messenger to First Station and have him contact the military base northwest of Yellik,” Ostrozhskaya replied at once.

“Without carts or horses, walking to First Station will take as long as riding to Ngia,” Zalessky said with a sigh. “Then it’s another five days for the message to reach the military by mail. Then another three or so while they discuss everything and decide what to do. And then the journey back to the Park... Your plan, Senior Magister Ostrozhskaya, will take a month.”

“All the better.” Varvara nodded with a little smile of triumph. “That will give us just enough time to finish our task, which I must stress is very important. And we won’t have to spend our energy on every little nuisance.”

“Little nuisances?!” Rita bellowed like a wounded bull. “You vile old slu—”

Bors clamped a hand over Rita’s mouth and hauled her back.

“But if there really is someone in the ninth sector right now,” Zalessky continued, “someone who sent a group of Hunters to the Eternal Angels without batting an eye, then within a month, they’ll certainly have moved somewhere else. And worse, they could do... I don’t even know what.”

“Then go right on not knowing.” The Senior Magister shook her head, the motion oddly pigeonlike. “This has absolutely nothing to do with us. As for the boy, we’ll bury him. He did his job. Warned us. We can thank him for that. I’ll send his family a card when we get back. I can even write that he was a hero and all that. Well, you know, all that quasi-military nonsense of yours.”

Ardi kept his gaze fixed on the map. Still, something was bothering him. If the ninth sector was so “unprofitable” that even poachers never ventured there, why would anyone other than Hunters’ Guild personnel go there at all?

And most likely, the very same thought had occurred to Zalessky.

“I’m invoking a provision of the Charter, gentlemen, and issuing the following order.” Zalessky circled sector nine with his pencil. “We’re assembling a team, and in two hours we move out for sector nine. Captain Rogov and Captain Melin are coming with us, along with Mr. Nalensky as an anomaly specialist, Bors, Rita, and me...”

“And you can shove your orders straight up your pompous, scrawny ass!” Senior Magister Ostrozhskaya shouted, her voice rising to a piercing shriek. “No one here will listen to you! We are not declaring martial law! Everyone answers to me... to Nalensky and me! We will continue carrying out the tasks I assigned yesterday! And I won’t hear another word on this subject or discuss it any further!”

“Miss Ostrozhskaya, you—”

“I am a Senior Magister!” Ostrozhskaya shrieked, all but hysterical with rage now. “You’re the one who will obey me! Not the other way around! And if you try to get your way by force, I’d be very interested to see what you manage to accomplish!”

Miss Ostrozhskaya struck her staff against the planking. Not to manifest a seal, but simply to punctuate her words with a forceful gesture. There was just one thing she hadn’t considered: she wasn’t among her own students or the rank-and-file Guild scholars under her command. She was among hunters.

The first to react was the least likely person in the tent.

“You old hag! I’m so sick of you and that bloated ego of yours! Your order got a man killed! A very young man! And instead of taking responsibility and acting, you’re trying to stick your head up your own sagging, wrinkled ass, since you love talking about asses so much! Do you think you’re the only one here wearing stars? Try to manifest so much as a single seal, and I’ll make you stop spitting your disgusting drool in our faces and start shitting out of your mouth instead! Because all I’ve ever heard from you is shit anyway!”

None other than “dear Chaz” loomed over Miss Ostrozhskaya, breathing hard and shaking his staff. At that moment he was trembling slightly, and his face was turning crimson. He looked for all the world like a man who almost never lost his temper.

“Chaz, you…”

“Senior Magister Nalensky, Old Hag!” Chaz had forgotten himself so completely that he’d used Ostrozhskaya’s nickname. “And if you haven’t noticed, my stars have more rays than yours!”

“Well…”

“Well, then shut your mouth and obey Mr. Zalessky’s orders!”

Everyone in the tent was stunned by what they had just seen and heard. Ard’s eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline, and everyone else’s seemed to have followed.

A sudden, dangerous situation can tell you a lot about people. It can tell them just as much about themselves.

Zalessky cleared his throat and continued.

“Our job is to sweep the entire ninth sector, along with the adjoining Streets and the whole Perimeter, for poachers or…” Zalessky sighed again. “Foreigners. Both regular troops and mercenaries. Questions?”

Ardi was about to make a suggestion, but Magister Tikhonov beat him to it. Today, apparently, was going to be a special kind of day, full of revelations about people they’d spent a whole month living with.

“Mr. Zalessky,” Evlampiy all but squeaked, his voice uncertain. He kept darting nervous glances toward Senior Magister Ostrozhskaya, who was doing her best to look as if none of this interested her, everyone around her was wrong, and they would all be sorry they hadn’t listened. “If you take Captains Rogov and Melin with you, and Senior Magister Nalensky on top of that, the camp will be left virtually undefended.”

Zalessky wheeled toward Magister Tikhonov so sharply that Tikhonov jerked back, wiped the sweat from his brow, and nearly tripped over his own cloak.

“S-s-sorry, I…”

“You said exactly the right thing, Magister Tikhonov.” Zalessky nodded and squeezed Evlampiy’s shoulder. Evlampiy stared in utter astonishment at Zalessky’s weathered hand, then lit up every bit as brightly as a Ley-lamp. “If there really are Ngian paramilitary units there, or even lightly trained mercenaries under someone else’s flag, then…” Zalessky shook his head and jabbed a finger at the area around Second Station on the map. “It doesn’t make sense to bring every mage along at once. Evlampiy’s right. We can’t leave the camp undefended… In that case, Rogov and Melin, you two stay behind. You too, Mr. Nalensky. We’ll set out with a small reconnaissance party. Rita, Bors, me, Magister Tikhonov, and you, Captain Skofsky.”

Zalessky turned to Ard as though waiting for him to argue. But Ardi merely gave a measured nod.

“Yes, sir,” Ardan replied with exaggerated military precision.

Marat was a thoughtful archer, always ready to lend a hand. If what had happened to him and his unit had any connection to the Puppeteers, perhaps Ardi had been given one last chance to find something out. The Northern National Park covered far too much ground, and the Anomalies made much of it difficult to reach. Combing the entire Park in search of a hidden laboratory was simply impossible.

And if the incident had nothing whatsoever to do with the conspirators, Ard would still come away with a small bonus: one theory conclusively ruled out. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t so bad either.

“I… I… I’ll go with you!” Evlampiy cried out. He had clearly spent several seconds gathering his courage. “Captain Skofsky knows almost nothing about Anomalies, so you’ll need my professional advice. There’s just one thing…” Magister Tikhonov’s cheeks flushed crimson, and he quickly rattled off the rest: “I’ve even forgotten the seal for the Basic Universal Shield. Military magic isn’t my strong suit at all.”

The hunters and the mages exchanged glances, then looked at Magister Tikhonov with newfound respect. He was short and unfailingly mild, a man who always avoided arguments of any kind, but when it mattered most, with danger close, he had managed to master his fear. Very few people were capable of that. Even Ard, young as he was, had already come to understand that very well.

“Then it’s settled.” Zalessky nodded and turned to Mr. Nalensky. “Chaz, we’ll be gone for a week. Under the Charter of the North, you’ll be in command of the camp as well as your expedition.”

Nalensky nodded.

“Should we send someone to First Station?”

Zalessky slapped the table with his palm and turned to Rita.

“Who’s the fastest of us, with the most stamina?”

“Marat.”

“And among the… living?”

“Marat could still be alive,” Rita snarled like an angry dog. “Until we see proof to the contrary, I have no intention of burying my friend, not even in my mind.”

“Rita…” Zalessky said in a weary drawl.

Rita raised her hands, then answered reluctantly.

“After Marat, probably Odron. But even Odron would need at least five days to reach First Station on foot.”

Zalessky muttered a curse.

“And all because we don’t keep so much as a pair of horses here, even for emergencies…” Zalessky lamented.

“It’s all because of the predatory Anomalies, Mr. Zalessky,” Magister Tikhonov reminded him, his voice steadier now, almost bold. “They would scent the horses as prey, and their hunting instincts would overpower any fear of the disturbances our protective barrier creates in the Paarlax Field.”

“I know, Evlampiy. Just venting.” That was all Zalessky said, and Evlampiy shrank back into silence.

For a couple of seconds, a prickly silence filled the tent, broken only by the tap of Zalessky’s pencil against the map.

“Given everything we’ve discussed,” Zalessky went on, “we’ll move out as a small party. We’ll take provisions for ten days, giving us a three-day reserve. We’ll draw equipment and accumulators for the mages under emergency protocol. Chaz will take command.”

As Ardi understood it, Mr. Zalessky preferred to call people by their first names once he’d had even a brief conversation with them. It was an odd habit.

“What about the camp?” Senior Magister Nalensky asked.

“Everything’s in line with regulations.” Zalessky shrugged. “No assignments of any kind, and—”

“You’re all so unbearably stupid!” Miss Ostrozhskaya flung up her hands. With a sweep of her cloak, she strode briskly out of the tent.

No one moved to stop her. She might have been violating an article of the military code, and perhaps her own oath as well, but all that would be sorted out later. For now, trying to pry anything out of her would waste more than they could afford.

“And the camp is going into siege mode,” Zalessky continued as though nothing had happened. “Detail engineers to the trenches and embankments. Choose positions around the perimeter and post patrols with marksmen at each one. No smoke for the next twenty-four hours, and no fires after sunset. High alert. Put the force on a three-watch rotation, with one third awake at all times, day or night. See to all of that by day’s end, Chaz, and... we’ll pray it’s nothing more than some unexplained mess. The Old Hag may be a thoroughly vile woman, but she’s right about one thing. We all remember perfectly well how Congress ended.”

Their expressions grew grim. No one wanted to think this might be how they learned that the Great War had begun. At that moment, every one of them would have preferred to find poachers in the ninth sector. In fact, each was silently praying to the Eternal Angels that they would. Or mercenaries. Anyone at all in a dull gray uniform, as long as they weren’t regular troops from the Kingdom of Ngia.

“That’s all,” Zalessky concluded. He folded the map and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We won’t waste what time we have left.” He checked his wristwatch. “Of the two hours I mentioned earlier, we have an hour and a half left. So, meet at the camp exit in ten minutes.”

Ardan didn’t wait for the others. He left the tent just as quickly as Ostrozhskaya had. No one bothered to lower their voices, and the dying hunter was screaming with what little strength he had left, so the tension in the camp rose even higher. Grim-faced, the hunters checked their weapons. Some were already pulling shovels from their cases and heading toward the camp perimeter without waiting for orders.

Ardi walked quickly to Taisia’s tent.

“Well?” Taisia asked before Ardi had even entered.

Without going into much detail, he quickly gave Miss Shpritz the gist of the conversation while gathering ten days’ worth of provisions. Why hadn’t Ardi taken food with him when Zalessky came into their tent? Then again, in the mages’ military, “take everything you need with you” was Star-soldier shorthand for “take accumulators.”

“That’s ridiculous, Captain!” Miss Shpritz threw up her hands in a gesture somehow reminiscent of Ostrozhskaya. “Ngians? This far south? How could they have made it past all the abatis lines and forts? The Empire is preparing for war, just like everyone else! All our borderlands are crisscrossed with trenches. We’re building ten times as many forts as before.”

“If there are about sixty of them, they might have slipped through.” Ardan shrugged and slung his pack over his shoulder. “Try not to get bored, Taisia. Then again, you’ll have Mr. Nalensky to keep you company. He was left in charge, by the way. And I imagine he’ll take very good care of you.”

Ardi turned around and hurried out of the tent.

“You really are a bastard, Captain!” Taisia shouted after him, despair and panic tangled in her voice.

Ardan wasted no time. He set off at a brisk walk again, his heels clicking over the wooden walkway. He passed the field kitchen, where people were already dividing provisions into rations, then the generation bay, where they were piling sandbags around the structure, and stopped near the camp exit, marked by two red flags planted in small mounds of earth.

“Oh, Captain, I envy your composure.” Magister Tikhonov shifted from foot to foot, so laden down that he looked like a pack mule. He had even brought an oil lamp with him for some reason. “I think I’m so nervous I’m about to throw up.”

“You’d be better off leaving most of that here, Mr. Tikhonov,” Ardan advised. “You’ll either throw it away yourself along the way, or Mr. Zalessky will order you to sort through your things.”

“You think so?” Magister Tikhonov asked, then immediately answered his own question. “Well, yes. I suppose you’re right. Can you tell me what I should take and what I should leave behind?”

While Tikhonov and Ardan sorted through the gear, the others reached the camp’s exit. Zalessky, Rita, and Bors all had packs like Ard’s, but they also had military rifles, bayonets sheathed at their belts, and several bandoliers. Bors and Zalessky carried hand grenades as well.

“Well then, Concussed Captain.” Rita winked at him and pulled the cloth over her face to hide the tattoo. “Let’s test your instincts again.”

“You know, gentlemen,” Bors put in, “as strange as it may sound, I’d rather work with the Concussed in the forest than with Melin and Rogov.”

“What are you talking about?” Zalessky frowned.

“Oh, nothing, Drab.” Rita snorted and adjusted the strap of her pack. “It’s just that Skofsky is right in his element in the forest. Like a beast in the brush.”

Zalessky and Tikhonov looked at Ard in surprise, but he resorted to his favorite tactic. He kept quiet and pretended they were talking about someone else entirely.

“We’re moving out,” Zalessky ordered. “And whoever decides to meet the Eternal Angels...”

Out of habit, Ardi nearly answered, “Fatian.”

“A pocket full of holes!” the others thundered in unison.

Ardan still hadn’t had a chance to find out why that particular saying had caught on among the Hunters. But apparently, given how long the journey ahead would take, he’d have more than enough chances to make up for lost time.